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She was at a Palestine Water Restoration conference in a DC hotel when she got the text that her Uncle Ziad had been killed by guards in an Israeli jail in the West Bank. Others in her village, where her family had lived for generations, were at that moment being tear gassed as they protested Ziad’s death. She wanted to scream. How did people who had suffered genocide at Nazi hands become such monsters? She walked down the hall to the ballroom, her heart pounding with rage and grief. When introduced, she took the microphone. Brothers and sisters, she began. Brothers and sisters. Brothers and sisters.